CTNES: The Hero (or Villian) Within
- Thread starter Contempt
- Start date
erez87 said:
Yeah, orders should be PM'd. Your orders are fine, but could use some more explanation, and in order to get a level up you'll need to write a couple stories (that picture with the history and explanation of your powers is a good start)
Kozmos
Jew Detective
Stories? Bah!
Alakazen
Clostridium botulinum
~Darkening~ said:
When did modes of transportation become a superhero trademark?
JosefStalinator
Я буду снова здесь
Alakazen said:When did modes of transportation become a superhero trademark?
Batmobile?
Alakazen
Clostridium botulinum
That's different... What I meant was that I bought a motorcycle to cruise through Malayan rubber plantations and Darkening says that he's ripped-off.
~Darkening~
Weep, Mother.
I was kidding. Take a joke 
.
.
Alakazen
Clostridium botulinum
Oh, okay. The massive number of periods "....." threw me off. 
~Darkening~
Weep, Mother.
I love the dots......................
A younger Renegade stares in the mirror. Long, black hair stained with a golden streak down the middle. Even in his youth the boy dressed in black. A light scar rests above his left eye, a small red slash against the paler skin.
He brings his hand up and stares at the mirror. While staring in the mirror, the hand phases out slowly, then comes back to its normal state. He holds the hand up once again, and it disappears within the mirror. A minute later he brings his hand down and it reappears. He pauses for a second before letting a smile creep across his face.
The boy then reaches down and picks up a pair of scissors of the dressor in front of him. He nerviously brings the scissors up the back of his head and grabs a handful of hair with the other hand. He closes the scissors around the hair and begins to cut away ten years of work........
==========================================================
Nine years later the boy throws up, slouched over a trashcan in an alley. His hair, still golden-streaked and cut short, is dishealved. Hazel eyes burning in the cool night. Clothes a little rumpled, but still in their trademark style. He wipes his mouth with his sleave and amazingly manages to get nothing on it. He then straightens up and walks back into the bar. He walks across the bar and takes a seat once more on the wooden stool. "Another." He simply says, plopping a bill down on the marble.
"Don't you think you've had enough?" The bartender asks, eying the boy slowly.
"..................I paid didn't I?"
The bartender slowly sighs and brinks a glass to the table. He grabs two bottles of the wall behind him and uncorks them. He fills he glass half full with one and then tops it off with the other. "Another double shot, as you ordered."
".....Thanks." Devin says before downing the drink in one shot.
PUBLIC ADVISORY: Always watch how much you drink
. And stay away from ordering drinks at a mexican resturant.....
JosefStalinator
Я буду снова здесь
Lord_Iggy said:
You mean elipses?
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
Pfft.
--- is the way to go!
--- is the way to go!
I'll be joining this NES. But I think I'll wait until after I'm back from vacation.
@Thlayli-That's it! WAR!!!
Prepare for asterisk marshmallow bombardment.
*****(_()*********************(_()
**(_()
******(_()******(_()
****(_()
******************(_()
*****(_()
***********(_()********(_()
@Thlayli-That's it! WAR!!!
Prepare for asterisk marshmallow bombardment.
*****(_()*********************(_()
**(_()
******(_()******(_()
****(_()
******************(_()
*****(_()
***********(_()********(_()
alex994
Hail Divine Emperor!
OOC: When are you coming back from vacation iggy? 
Alakazen
Clostridium botulinum
EDIT: I dropped this character in favour of another one, "Lady Justice". Her stories begin on page 9 of this thread. Don't bother reading this one unless you really wanna waste your time.
The year is 1951, and the place is Malaya.
She’s a beautiful country, as tropical countries go. Rice fields, rubber trees and exotic women. You get to choose between Malays, Chinese, Indians, and if you were adventurous enough, indigenous gals from the jungle tribes.
If only I were allowed to go anywhere near them. But, no… Instead, I have to keep bloody patrol! Lemme ask you a question: Would a soldier-man be happy babysitting fortified villages when he could be out hunting those damned commies for sport? Lemme give you a hint: The answer’s no! It’s not like I kill them or anything. But that’s what this Briggs’ Plan was supposed to do. Round up them commie sympathisers and keep them far, far away from the jungles.
“Nice plan, mate”, I said to them, “but why don’t we cut to the chase and get those commies where it hurts, huh? Like their bollocks or something. Could work, eh?” But, no, they wouldn’t listen. Now see what happens; the commies got Gurney. It’s not everyday that a British High Commissioner gets killed in Malaya… I’d love to tell them “I told ya so”, but that’d be in really bad taste now, wouldn’t it?
So here I am, going on my daily… nightly rounds through the Sepang jungle, with a couple of my mates by my side; they weren't anywhere close at the moment, though. In any case, it’d be absolutely lovely if I run into one of those guerrilla camps they have around these parts; my hands are getting itchy.
But all of a sudden, I was inside a net and hanging in the air. Bugger! I guess those commies weren’t as stupid as they looked. Oh look, here comes one of them now… “Hey, commie!” I said to him. “I’m a pommie, could you let me out of your trap?”
“Orang Inggeris celaka! Kamu nak mati ke?!” he screamed back at me, pointing his bayoneted rifle at me. Oh, I forgot, they don’t speak a word of English. Didn’t really matter, though, he seemed to have got the idea. He lowers the net a little, approaches me and --
Bloody hell, that was hell of a lot more painful than I’d thought it’d be. Damn, it seems like that ******* knocked me out. And now, I can’t really see anything in this dark. Can’t a man get decent lighting around here?
And then I got slapped.
“Son of a *****, what the hell do you think you’re doing, you tit?!”
“You, Englishman,” said an unmistakably Chinese voice. “You prisoner.”
“Well, no ****, Sherlock.”
“What you say?”
“I said, no --”
And I got slapped, again.
“For the love of God, what the hell do you want from me, you pathetic arse?!”
“Nothing. Just want kill you, very, very, very, very, very --”
“Yeah, go on, I have all bloody day…”
“-- very, very slowly…”
He took out an ugly, old, combat knife and brandished it about. It kinda looked like he wanted to use it on me. “Yeah, that’s really original, rusty sodding knife --”
“I say shut up and die!”
And once again, the commie slapped me. This time around, I’d prepared a lot of electricity on my cheeks. Surprise, mate! I zapped him silly and he crumpled like a sack of potatoes, unconscious. He didn’t know what hit him. In fact, I got to him so fast he didn’t even have time to scream!
Heh heh. Well, now I need to find a way to get out of this place, and to get that bloody pain out of my cheeks…
The year is 1951, and the place is Malaya.
She’s a beautiful country, as tropical countries go. Rice fields, rubber trees and exotic women. You get to choose between Malays, Chinese, Indians, and if you were adventurous enough, indigenous gals from the jungle tribes.
If only I were allowed to go anywhere near them. But, no… Instead, I have to keep bloody patrol! Lemme ask you a question: Would a soldier-man be happy babysitting fortified villages when he could be out hunting those damned commies for sport? Lemme give you a hint: The answer’s no! It’s not like I kill them or anything. But that’s what this Briggs’ Plan was supposed to do. Round up them commie sympathisers and keep them far, far away from the jungles.
“Nice plan, mate”, I said to them, “but why don’t we cut to the chase and get those commies where it hurts, huh? Like their bollocks or something. Could work, eh?” But, no, they wouldn’t listen. Now see what happens; the commies got Gurney. It’s not everyday that a British High Commissioner gets killed in Malaya… I’d love to tell them “I told ya so”, but that’d be in really bad taste now, wouldn’t it?
So here I am, going on my daily… nightly rounds through the Sepang jungle, with a couple of my mates by my side; they weren't anywhere close at the moment, though. In any case, it’d be absolutely lovely if I run into one of those guerrilla camps they have around these parts; my hands are getting itchy.
But all of a sudden, I was inside a net and hanging in the air. Bugger! I guess those commies weren’t as stupid as they looked. Oh look, here comes one of them now… “Hey, commie!” I said to him. “I’m a pommie, could you let me out of your trap?”
“Orang Inggeris celaka! Kamu nak mati ke?!” he screamed back at me, pointing his bayoneted rifle at me. Oh, I forgot, they don’t speak a word of English. Didn’t really matter, though, he seemed to have got the idea. He lowers the net a little, approaches me and --
Bloody hell, that was hell of a lot more painful than I’d thought it’d be. Damn, it seems like that ******* knocked me out. And now, I can’t really see anything in this dark. Can’t a man get decent lighting around here?
And then I got slapped.
“Son of a *****, what the hell do you think you’re doing, you tit?!”
“You, Englishman,” said an unmistakably Chinese voice. “You prisoner.”
“Well, no ****, Sherlock.”
“What you say?”
“I said, no --”
And I got slapped, again.
“For the love of God, what the hell do you want from me, you pathetic arse?!”
“Nothing. Just want kill you, very, very, very, very, very --”
“Yeah, go on, I have all bloody day…”
“-- very, very slowly…”
He took out an ugly, old, combat knife and brandished it about. It kinda looked like he wanted to use it on me. “Yeah, that’s really original, rusty sodding knife --”
“I say shut up and die!”
And once again, the commie slapped me. This time around, I’d prepared a lot of electricity on my cheeks. Surprise, mate! I zapped him silly and he crumpled like a sack of potatoes, unconscious. He didn’t know what hit him. In fact, I got to him so fast he didn’t even have time to scream!
Heh heh. Well, now I need to find a way to get out of this place, and to get that bloody pain out of my cheeks…
Symphony D.
Deity
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
UNKNOWN LOCATION, LAS VEGAS, NEVADA, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
15:16 LOCAL TIME, FEBRUARY 16, 1951 AD
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
UNKNOWN LOCATION, LAS VEGAS, NEVADA, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
15:16 LOCAL TIME, FEBRUARY 16, 1951 AD
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I'm going to kill him," said Blackjack flatly. The various assorted henchmen around him all displayed something of shock. One spoke up "but boss, you saw what he--"
He was cut off by Blackjack's stare. After a moment of almost palpable loathing, he stated "He did what he did because you jerks were too stupid to help."
Blackjack leant back in his chair, kicking his boots up on the table and propping his arms beshind his head "I don't like getting shot, especially by some two-bit nobody who uses it to win the affection of the Mob, the 5-0, and the people."
He tilted his head back and pursed his lips, before continue "I only tend to kill goons like you jerks, if some coppers get in my way because I'm doing their job for them, that's their own fault for being stupid; yet they act like I go after them exclusively.
"So we'll see what everybody thinks of their precious hero when he slips up again," stated Blackjack, pulling a cigar from his pocket and lighting it. After a few puffs he smiled and stated almost with a bit of whimsy "His first mistake will be his last."
There was silence in the room for some moments before one of the other henchmen, one of the dense muscle types spoke up "So what's the next job boss?"
Blackjack glanced at him before grinning a little "Now that's the kind of thinking I like. Our next real job is a big one..."
